U, .,  ,,..., ,.,,., 

lAfCOLN 


PC-NRLF 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

DAVIS 

GIFT  OF 

JOHN  HOMER  WOOLSEY 


BENEFITS  FORGOT 


"COME  HERE  AND  SIT  DOWN  AND  WRITE  A  LETTER 
TO  YOUR  MOTHER!"— Pa£e  74. 


BENEFITS  FORGOT 

A  STORY  OF  LINCOLN  AND 
MOTHER  LOVE 


BY 


HONORE  WILLSIE 

AUTHOR  OF   "STILL  JIM,"   "LYDIA  O?  THE  PINES,"  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  CHARLES  E.  CARTW RIGHT 


PUBLISHERS 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

NEW    YORK 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  induing  that  of  translation 
into  foreign  languages 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  DONATION  PARTY i 

II  THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER 27 

III  WAR 45 

IV  MR.  LINCOLN 63 


I 
THE  DONATION  PARTY 


I 

THE  DONATION  PARTY 


BROTHER  MEAKER  rose  from  his  pew 
and  looked  at  Jason  appraisingly. 
"I  don't  know,  brethern,"  he  said. 
"Of  course,  he's  a  growing  boy.    Just  turned 
twelve,   didn't  you   say,   ma'am?"     Jason's 
mother  nodded  faintly  without  looking  up, 
and  Brother  Meaker  went  on.     "As  I  said, 
he's  a  growing  boy,  but  he's  dark  and  wiry. 
And  I've  always  noted,  the  dark  wiry  kind 

[i] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


eat  smaller  than  any  other  kind.  I  should 
take  at  least  twelve  pounds  of  sugar  off  the  al 
lowance  for  the  year  and  four  gallon  less  of 
molasses  than  you  was  calculatin'  on." 

He  sat  down  and  Sister  Cantwell  rose. 
She  was  a  fat  woman,  famous  in  the  southern 
Ohio  country  for  the  lavish  table  she  set. 

"Short  sweetening,"  she  said  in  a  thin  high 
voice,  "is  dreadful  high.  I  said  to  Hiram 
yesterday  that  the  last  sugar  loaf  I  bought 
was  worth  its  weight  in  silver.  I  should  say, 
cut  down  on  short  sweetening.  Long  sweet 
ening  is  all  right  except  for  holidays." 

Jason  whispered  to  his  mother,  "What's 
long  sweetening,  mother?" 

"They  must  mean  molasses,"  she  whispered 
in  return,  with  a  glance  at  Jason's  father,  who 
sat  at  the  far  end  of  the  pew  reading  his 
Bible  as  he  always  did  at  this  annual  ordeal. 

Jason  looked  from  his  mother's  quiet,  sen 
sitive  face,  like  yet  so  unlike  his  own,  to 
the  bare  pulpit  of  the  little  country 

[2] 


THE   DONATION   PARTY 


church,  then  back  at  Brother  Ames,  who  was 
conducting  the  meeting.  This  annual  con 
ference  and  the  annual  donation  party  were 
the  black  spots  in  Jason's  year.  His  mother, 
he  suspected,  suffered  as  he  did:  her  face 
told  him  that.  Her  tender  lips,  usually  so 
wistful  and  eager,  were  at  these  times  thin 
and  compressed.  Her  brown  eyes,  that  ex 
cept  at  times  of  death  or  illness  always  held 
a  remote  twinkle,  were  inscrutable. 

Jason's  face  was  so  like,  yet  already  so 
unlike  his  mother's!  The  same  brown  eyes, 
with  the  same  twinkle,  but  tonight  instead  of 
being  inscrutable,  boyishly  hard.  The  same 
tender  mouth,  with  tonight  an  unboyish  sar 
donic  twist.  What  Jason's  father's  face  might 
have  said  one  could  not  know,  for  it  was  hid 
den  under  a  close-cropped  brown  beard.  He 
turned  the  leaves  of  his  Bible  composedly, 
looking  up  only  as  the  meeting  reached  a  final 
triumphant  conclusion  with  Brother  Ames' 
announcement : 

[3] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


"So,  Brother  Wilkins,  there  you  are,  a 
liberal  allowance  if  I  must  say  it.  Two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars  for  the  year,  with  the 
usual  donation  party  to  take  place  in  the  fall 
of  the  year." 

Brother  Wilkins,  who  was  Jason's  father, 
rose,  bowed  and  said:  "I  thank  you,  breth 
ren.  Let  us  pray!" 

The  fifty  or  sixty  souls  in  the  church  knelt, 
and  Jason's  father,  his  eyes  closed,  lifted  his 
great  bass  voice  in  prayer: 

"O  God,  You  have  led  our  feeble  and 
trusting  steps  to  this  town  of  High  Hill,  Ohio. 
You  have  put  into  the  hearts  and  minds  of 
these  people,  O  God,  the  purpose  of  feeding 
and  clothing  us.  Whether  they  do  it  well  or 
ill,  concerns  them  and  you,  O  God,  and  not 
us.  We  are  but  Your  humble  servants,  doing 
Your  divine  bidding.  Yet  this  is  perhaps  the 
proper  occasion,  Our  Heavenly  Father,  to 
thank  You  that  You  have  sent  us  but  one 
child  and  that  unlike  Solomon,  Your  servant 

(4] 


THE    DONATION    PARTY 


has  but  one  wife.  And  now,  O  God,  bless 
these  people  in  their  giving.  And  make  me, 
in  my  solitary  circuit  riding  in  the  hills  and 
valleys  a  proper  mouthpiece  of  Your  will. 
For  Lord  Jesus'  sake,  Amen." 

There  was  a  short  pause  after  the  rich 
voice  stopped,  then  a  few  weak  "Amens" 
came  from  different  corners  of  the  church  and 
Brother  Ames,  jumping  to  his  feet,  exclaimed : 

"Let  us  close  the  meeting  by  singing 

'  How  tedious  and  tasteless  the  hours 
When  Jesus  no  longer  I  see  — ' ' 

This  ended  Jason's  first  day  at  High  Hill. 
The  salary  was  small,  even  for  a  Methodist 
circuit  rider,  in  the  decade  before  the  Civil 
War.  It  was  smaller  by  fifty  dollars  than 
what  they  had  been  allowed  the  year  before. 
Yet,  High  Hill,  as  Mrs.  Wilkins  pointed  out 
to  Jason  the  next  day,  was  much  more  at 
tractive  than  any  town  they  had  been  in  for 
years.  There  was  a  good  school,  and  the 
Ohio  river-packet  stopped  twice  a  week,  and 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


a  Mr.  Inchpin  in  the  town  was  reported  to 
be  the  owner  of  a  number  of  books.  Jason's 
mother  was  an  Eastern  woman  and  some 
times  the  loneliness  and  hardship  of  her  life 
made  her  find  solace  in  what  seemed  to  Jason 
inconsequential  things.  Still,  he  was  glad  of 
the  school,  for  he  was  a  first-class  student  and 
already  had  decided  to  take  his  father's  and 
mother's  advice  that  he  study  medicine.  And 
the  packet,  warping  in  twice  a  week,  was,  after 
all,  something  to  which  one  might  look  forward 
and  Mr.  Inchpin's  books  would  be  wonderful. 
Jason  was  sure  that  the  Ohio  valley  in 
which  he  had  spent  the  whole  of  his  short  life 
was  the  most  beautiful  spot  in  the  world. 
The  lovely  green  heights  rolling  back  into  the 
Kentucky  sky  line,  were,  he  thought,  great 
enough  for  David,  whose  cattle  fed  upon  a 
thousand  hills.  The  fine  headlands  on  the 
Ohio  side,  wooded,  mysterious,  were,  he  was 
sure,  clad  in  verdure  like  the  utmost  bound 
of  the  everlasting  hills  of  Jacob.  And  High 

[6] 


THE    DONATION    PARTY 


Hill  with  its  fifteen  hundred  souls  was  "a  city, 
builded  on  a  hill  that  could  not  be  laid." 

For  Jason  was  brought  up  on  the  Bible. 
His  father  believed  that  it  ought  to  be,  out 
side  of  his  school  text  books,  his  only  litera 
ture.  His  mother,  with  her  Eastern  tradi 
tions,  thought  otherwise.  A  Methodist  cir 
cuit  rider  before  the  Civil  War  moved  every 
year,  and  every  year  Mrs.  Wilkins  combed 
each  new  community  for  books.  It  was  won 
derful  how  she  and  Jason  scented  them  out. 

They  had  been  in  High  Hill  about  a  week 
when  Jason  came  panting  into  the  house 
late  one  afternoon.  His  father  was  writing  a 
sermon  in  the  sitting  room.  Jason  tip-toed 
into  the  kitchen,  where  his  mother  was  pre 
paring  supper. 

"The  packet's  in,  mother,  and  I  carried  a 
man's  carpet  bag  up  to  the  hotel  and  look  — 
what  he  gave  me!" 

His  slender  boyish  brown  hands  fairly 
trembled  as  he  held  a  torn  and  soiled  maga- 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


zine  toward  his  mother.  She  dropped  the 
biscuit  she  was  molding  and  seized  it. 

"Harper's  Monthly!  O  Jason  dear,  how 
wonderful!  You  shall  read  it  aloud  to  me 
after  supper." 

"It's  prayer  meeting  night,"  said  Jason  in 
a  sick  voice. 

His  mother  flushed  a  little.  "So  it  is!  My 
goodness,  Jason!  Print  makes  a  heathen  of 
me  and  you're  most  as  bad.  You  haven't 
fed  the  horse  or  milked." 

"So  I  won't  get  a  look  at  it  till  tomorrow," 
cried  Jason,  bitterly. 

Mrs.  Wilkins  glanced  toward  the  closed 
door  that  led  into  the  sitting  room.  Then 
she  looked  at  Jason's  wide  brown  eyes,  at  the 
round-about  she  had  cut  over  from  his  fa 
ther's  old  sermon  coat,  at  the  darned  stockings 
and  the  trousers  that  had  belonged  to  the 
rich  boy  of  the  town  they  had  lived  in  the 
year  before. 

"Jason,"    she    said,    "you    ought    to    get 

[8] 


THE    DONATION    PARTY 


plenty  of  sleep  because  you're  a  growing  boy. 
But  a  thing  like  this  won't  happen  for  years 
again  —  and  —  well,  I've  saved  up  several 
candle  ends,  hoping  to  get  some  sewing  done 
nights  when  your  father  was  using  the  lamp. 
When  you  go  up  to  bed  tonight,  take  those 
and  read  your  magazine." 

"But  you  ought  to  keep  them,"  protested 
Jason. 

"Not  at  all,"  exclaimed  his  mother,  vigor 
ously,  "it's  all  for  your  education.  Run 
along  now  and  milk." 

So  Jason  reveled  in  his  Harper's  Monthly, 
and  the  next  day  as  he  wiped  the  dishes  for 
his  mother,  he  produced  his  great  idea. 

"If  I  can  earn  the  money,  this  summer, 
mother,  can  I  subscribe  to  Harper's  Monthly 
for  a  year?" 

"My  goodness,  Jason,  it's  five  dollars  and 
this  is  the  first  of  August!  School  begins  in 
a  month." 

"I    know   all   that,"   replied   Jason   impa- 


[9] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


tiently,  "but  if  I  earn  the  money  can  I  have 
it  for  Harper's  Monthly?" 

"Of  course  you  can.  It's  all  for  your  edu 
cation,  my  dear.  I  never  forget  that." 

A  money  paying  job  for  a  boy  of  twelve 
was  a  hard  thing  to  find  in  High  Hill  and 
Jason  was  late  for  supper  that  night.  But 
his  brown  eyes  were  shining  with  triumph 
when  he  slid  into  his  seat  and  held  out  his 
bowl  for  his  evening  meal  of  mush  and 
milk. 

"Pve  got  a  job,"  he  said. 

"A  job?"  queried  his  father.  He  smiled  a 
little  at  Jason's  mother. 

!CYes,  sir.  Mr.  Inchpin  is  having  a  new 
barn  built  on  the  hill  back  of  his  house.  The 
brook  runs  at  the  foot  of  it  and  I'm  going  to 
haul  gravel  and  sand  and  water  up  to  the 
building  site.  It'll  take  about  a  month.  He 
provides  the  horse  and  wagon." 

"And  how  much  will  he  pay  you?"  asked 
Mrs.  Wilkins. 


THE   DONATION    PARTY 


"He  says  he  can't  tell  till  he's  through. 
But  I'm  going  to  ask  him  for  five  dollars." 

Jason's  father  looked  amused  and  a  little 
troubled.  "Jason,  I  hope  you're  not  too  in 
terested  in  Mammon.  But  I  must  say 
I'm  glad  to  see  you  have  your  mother's 
energy." 

"Or  your  father's,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins, 
smiling  into  the  blue  eyes  opposite  hers. 
"Nobody  can  say  that  a  circuit  rider  lacks 
energy." 

And  so  during  the  hot  August  days,  Jason 
toiled  on  Mr.  Inchpin's  new  barn,  never  once 
visiting  the  swimming  hole  in  the  brook, 
never  once  heeding  the  long-drawn  invitation 
of  the  cicada  to  loll  under  the  trees  with  one 
of  Mr.  Inchpin's  books,  never  once  breaking 
away  when  the  toot  of  the  packet  reverber 
ated  among  the  hills. 

"He's  a  fine  lad,"  Mr.  Inchpin  told  Jason's 
father.  "I  never  have  seen  such  determina 
tion  in  a  little  fellow." 

In] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


Brother  Wilkins  looked  gratified,  but  when 
he  repeated  the  little  compliment  to  Jason's 
mother  he  added,  "I  don't  believe  I  under 
stand  Jason  altogether." 

"I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins,  stoutly. 

August  came  to  an  end  with  cool  nights 
and  shorter  days  and  Mr.  Inchpin's  barn  was 
finished  of  a  Saturday  evening.  He  called 
Jason  into  the  house,  into  the  library  where 
there  were  bound  volumes  of  Godey's  Lady's 
Book  and  Blackwood,  and  handed  him  three 
paper  dollars.  ^ 

"There  you  are,  my  man.  I'd  intended  to 
give  you  only  two.  But  you've  done  well, 
by  ginger,  so  here's  three  dollars." 

Jason  looked  up  at  him  dumbly,  mumbled 
something,  stuffed  the  bills  into  his  trousers 
pocket  and  bolted  for  home.  He  burst  in  on 
his  mother  in  the  kitchen,  buried  his  face 
against  her  bosom  and  sobbed. 

"I  can't  have  it  after  all!  He  only  gave 
me  three  dollars!  I  can't  have  it!  And  now 

[12] 


THE    DONATION    PARTY 


PII  never  know  how  that  story  'Bleak  House* 
ended." 

Jason's  father  came  into  the  kitchen,  has 
tily:  "What  in  the  world  — " 

"Jason!  Jason!  don't  sob  so!"  cried  Mrs. 
Wilkins.  "We'll  raise  the  rest  of  the  money 
some  way.  I'll  find  it.  Hush,  dear,  hush! 
Mercy,  the  mush  is  burning!" 

Jason's  father  took  the  boy's  grimy  blis 
tered  hand,  such  a  strong  slender  hand  and 
so  like  his  mother's,  and  sitting  down  in  the 
kitchen  chair,  he  pulled  Jason  to  him. 

"Tell  me,  Jason,"  he  urged  gently,  "what 
money?" 

Jason  still  torn  with  occasional  sobs,  man 
aged  to  tell  the  story. 

"Harper's  Monthly,"  exclaimed  Brother  Wil 
kins.  "Dear!  Dear!  I  had  hoped  you'd 
give  the  money  to  a  foreign  mission, 
Jason." 

"Foreign  mission!"  cried  Jason's  mother. 
"Well,  I  guess  not!  Jason's  education  is 

[13] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


going    to     be    taken    care    of    before    the 
heathen." 

"But  how'II  we  get  the  extra  dollars?" 
asked  Brother  Wilkins,  helplessly. 

"I'll  manage,"  replied  Jason's  mother,  her 
gentle  voice  a  little  louder  than  usual. 

"Then  let  us  eat  supper,"  said  Jason's  fa 
ther,  clearing  his  throat  for  grace. 

Jason's  mother  sold  a  girlhood  treasure,  a 
little  silver-tipped  hair-pin,  to  the  storekeep 
er's  wife,  the  following  Monday,  for  two  dol 
lars,  and  the  jubilant  Jason  exchanged  the 
single  bills  for  a  single  note.  The  note  was 
cut  in  two  and  sent  in  separate  letters  to 
New  York,  this  being  the  before  the  war 
method  of  safeguarding  loss  of  money  in  the 
mail.  There  was  a  period  of  several  weeks  of 
waiting  during  which  Jason  met  every  mail. 
Then  a  third  letter  was  sent  by  Jason's 
mother,  asking  why  the  delay,  and  telling 
Jason's  little  story. 

Jason  met  the  return  packet,  his  heart  now 

[14] 


THE    DONATION     PARTY 


high,  now  low.  He  had  met  so  many  futile 
packets  since  the  first  of  September.  But 
this  time  there  was  a  letter  explaining  that 
but  one-half  of  the  note  had  arrived  in  New 
York,  but  that  on  faith,  the  editors  were 
sending  the  back  numbers  of  the  magazine 
requested  and  that  the  rest  of  the  year's 
subscription  would  follow.  And  Jason  never 
did  know  whether  or  not  the  second  half  of 
the  note  arrived. 

And  there  they  were,  a  fat  pile  of  maga 
zines!  Jason  clasped  them  in  his  arms  and 
rushed  home  with  them.  A  tag  tail  of  boys 
followed  him  and  by  nightfall  most  of  the 
town  knew  that  Jason  Wilkins  had  four 
numbers  of  Harper's  Monthly  on  hand. 

Jason  was  out  milking  the  cow  when  Mr. 
Inchpin  arrived. 

"Heard  Jason  had  some  new  magazines 
in  hand.  Don't  s'pose  you  could  lend  me  a 
few,  over  night?" 

Jason's  mother  was  in  the  kitchen.    It  was 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


donation  party  night  and  she  had  been  cook 
ing  all  day  in  preparation. 

"Surely,  surely,"  said  Jason's  father,  pick 
ing  up  the  pile  of  magazines.  "Jason  can't 
get  at  them  before  the  end  of  the  week. 
Take  them  and  welcome." 

Mr.  Inchpin  rode  away.  Jason  came  in 
with  the  milk  pail  and  the  family  sat  down 
to  a  hasty  supper. 

"Won't  I  have  a  minute  of  time  to  look  at 
my  magazines,  mother?"  asked  Jason.  "O, 
I  hate  donation  parties!" 

"Jason!"  thundered  his  father.  "Would 
you  show  ingratitude  to  God?  And  the  books 
are  not  here  anyway.  I  loaned  them  to  Mr. 
Inchpin." 

"Father!" 

"O  Ethan!" 

Brother  Wilkins'  eyes  were  steel  gray,  in 
stead  of  blue.  "Jason  can  read  his  Bible 
until  the  end  of  the  week.  His  ingratitude 
deserves  punishment." 


[16 


THE    DONATION     PARTY 


Jason  rushed  from  the  table  and  flung  him 
self  sobbing  into  the  hay  loft.  His  mother 
found  him  there  a  few  moments  later. 

"I  know,  dear!  I  know!  It's  hard.  But 
father  doesn't  love  books  as  you  and  I  do,  so 
he  doesn't  understand.  And  you  must  hurry 
and  get  ready  for  the  party." 

"I  don't  want  the  donation  party,  I  want 
my  magazines,"  sobbed  Jason. 

"I  know.  But  life  seldom,  so  very  seldom, 
gives  us  what  we  want,  dear  heart.  Just  be 
thankful  that  you  will  be  happy  at  the  end  of 
the  week  and  come  and  help  mother  with  the 
party." 

As  donation  parties  go,  this  one  was  a  huge 
success.  Fully  a  hundred  people  attended  it. 
They  played  games,  they  sang  hymns,  they 
ate  a  month's  provisions  and  Mrs.  Wilkins' 
chance  of  a  new  dress  in  the  cake  and  coffee 
she  provided.  They  left  behind  them  a  pile 
of  potatoes  and  apples  that  filled  two 
barrels  and  a  heap  of  old  clothing  that 

[17] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


Jason,    candle   in    hand,    turned    over   with 
his  foot. 

"There's  Billy  Ames'  striped  pants,"  he 
grumbled.  "Every  time  his  mother  licked 
him  into  wearing  'em,  I  know  he  prayed  I'd 
get  'em,  the  ugly  beasts,  and  I  have.  And 
there's  seven  old  patched  shirts.  I  suppose 
I'll  get  the  tails  sewed  together  into  school 
shirts  for  me  and  there's  Old  Mrs.  Arley's 
plush  dress  —  I  suppose  poor  mother'II  have 
to  fix  that  up  and  wear  it  to  church.  Why 
don't  they  give  stuff  father'!!  have  to  wear, 
too?  I  wonder  why  a  minister's  supposed 
to  be  so  much  better  than  his  wife  or 


son.'3 


"What's  that  you're  saying,  Jason?"  asked 
his  father  sharply  as  he  brought  the  little  oil 
lamp  from  the  sitting  room  into  the  kitchen. 
Mrs.  Wilkins  followed.  This  was  a  detest 
able  job,  the  sorting  of  the  donation  debris, 
and  was  best  gotten  through  with,  at  once. 
Jason,  shading  the  candle  light  from  his  eyes, 

[18! 


THE    DONATION    PARTY 


with  one  slender  hand,  looked  at  his  father 
belligerently. 

"I  was  saying,"  he  said,  "that  it  was  too 
bad  you  don't  have  to  wear  some  of  the  old 
rags  sometimes,  then  you'd  know  how  mother 
and  I  feel  about  donation  parties." 

There  was  absolute  silence  for  a  moment  in 
the  little  kitchen.  A  late  October  cricket 
chirped  somewhere. 

Then,  "O  Jason!"  gasped  his  mother. 

The  boy  was  only  twelve,  but  he  had  been 
bred  in  a  difficult  school  and  was  old  for  his 
years.  He  looked  again  at  the  heaps  of  cast- 
off  clothing  on  the  floor  and  his  gorge  rose 
within  him. 

"I  tell  you,"  he  cried,  before  his  father 
could  speak,  "that  I'll  never  wear  another 
donation  party  pair  of  pants.  No,  nor  a 
shirt-tail  shirt,  either.  I'm  through  with 
having  the  boys  make  fun  of  me.  I'll  earn 
my  own  clothes  every  summer  and  I'll  earn 
mother's  too." 

[19] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  sir,"  thun 
dered  Jason's  father,  his  great  bass  voice  ris 
ing  as  it  did  in  revival  meetings.  "You'll  do 
nothing  but  wear  donation  clothes  as  long  as 
you're  under  my  roof.  I've  long  noted  your 
tendency  to  vanity  and  mammon.  To  my 
prayers,  I  shall  begin  to  add  stout  measures." 

Jason  threw  back  his  head,  a  finely  shaped 
head  it  was  with  good  breadth  between  the 
eyes. 

"I  tell  you,  sir,  I'm  through  with  donation 
pants.  If  folks  don't  think  enough  of  the 
religion  you  preach  to  pay  you  for  it  I'd  — 
I'd  advise  you  to  get  another  religion." 

Under  his  beard,  Ethan  Wilkins  went 
white,  but  not  so  white  as  Jason's  mother. 
But  she  spoke  quietly. 

"Jason,  apologize  to  your  father  at  once." 

"I  couldn't  accept  an  apology  now,"  said 
the  minister.  "I  shall  have  to  pray  to  -get 
my  mind  into  shape.  In  the  meantime  Jason 
shall  be  punished  for  this.  Not  until  every- 

[20] 


THE    DONATION     PARTY 


one  in  the  town  who  desires  to  read  his  Har 
per's  Monthlies  has  done  so,  can  Jason  touch 
them." 

"O  father,  not  that,"  cried  Jason.  "I'll 
apologize!  PII  wear  the  pants!  Why,  it  would 
be  Christmas  before  I'd  see  them  again!" 

"I  can't  accept  your  apology  now. 
Neither  your  spirit  nor  mine  is  right.  And  I 
cannot  retract.  Your  punishment  must 
stand." 

Jason  was  all  child  now.  "Mother,"  he 
cried,  "don't  let  him!  Don't  let  him!" 

Mrs.  Wilkins'  lips  quivered.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  could  not  speak.  Then  with  an 
inscrutable  look  into  her  husband's  eyes  she 
said: 

"You  must  obey  your  father,  Jason.  You 
have  been  very  wicked." 

Jason  put  down  his  candle  and  sobbed.  "I 
know  it.  But  I'll  be  good.  Let  me  have  my 
magazines.  They're  mine.  I  paid  for  them." 

"No!"  roared  the  minister.     "Go  to  bed, 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


sir,  and  see  to  it  that  you  pray  for  a  better 
heart." 

Jason's  sobs  sounded  through  the  little 
house  long  after  his  father  and  mother  had 
gone  to  bed.  The  minister  sighed  and  turned 
restlessly. 

"Why  was  I  given  such  a  rebellious  son, 
do  you  suppose?"  he  asked  finally. 

"Perhaps  God  hopes  it'll  make  you  have  a 
better  understanding  of  children,"  replied 
Mrs.  Wilkins.  "Christ  said  that  unless  you 
became  like  one  of  them  you  could  not  enter 
the  kingdom." 

There  was  another  silence  with  Jason's  sobs 
growing  fainter,  then,  "But  he  was  wicked, 
Mary,  and  he  deserved  punishment." 

"But  not  such  a  punishment.  Of  course,  I 
had  to  support  you,  no  matter  what  I 
thought.  But  O  Ethan,  Ethan,  it's  so  easy 
to  kill  the  fineness  in  a  proud  and  sensitive 
heart  like  Jason's." 

"Nevertheless,"     returned     the     minister, 


22 


THE    DONATION    PARTY 


"when  he  spurns  the  giving  hand  of  God,  for 
giveness  is  God's,  not  mine.    We'll  discuss  it 


no  more." 


Nor  was  the  matter  discussed  again.  Jason 
appeared  at  breakfast,  with  dark  rings  about 
his  eyes,  after  having  done  his  chores,  as 
usual.  Once,  it  seemed  to  his  mother  that  he 
looked  at  her  with  a  gaze  half  wondering,  half 
hurt,  as  if  she  had  failed  him  when  his  trust 
and  need  had  been  greatest.  But  he  said 
nothing  and  she  hoped  that  her  mind  had 
suggested  what  was  in  her  aching  heart  and 
that  Jason's  was  only  a  child's  hurt  that  would 
soon  heal. 

He  never  again  asked  for  the  magazines. 
On  Christmas  morning  his  father  placed 
them,  tattered  and  marred,  from  their  many 
lendings,  beside  his  plate.  Jason  did  not  take 
them  when  he  left  the  table  and  later  on  his 
mother  carried  them  up  to  his  room. 
Whether  he  read  them  or  not,  she  did  not 
know.  But  she  was  glad  to  see  him  begin 

[23] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


again  to  watch  for  the  packet  and  read  the  cur 
rent  numbers  as  they  arrived. 

She  dyed  Billy  Ames*  striped  pants  in  wal 
nut  juice  and  they  really  looked  very  well. 
Jason  wore  them  without  comment  as  he  did 
the  shirts  she  fashioned  for  him  from  many 
shirt  tails. 

And  in  the  spring  they  left  High  Hill  for  a 
valley  town. 


24 


II 
THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER 


ii 

THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER 


THE   years   sped  on  with  unbelievable 
swiftness  as  they  are  very  prone  to  do 
after  the   corner   into     the    teens    is 
turned. 

Jason  worked  every  summer,  but  he  did 
not  offer  to  buy  his  mother  a  dress  nor  did 

[27] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


he  buy  himself  either  clothing  or  books.  He 
put  all  he  earned  by  toward  his  course  in 
medicine.  When  he  was  a  little  fellow,  his 
mother  had  given  him  a  lacquered  sewing  box 
that  had  belonged  to  her  French  mother.  It 
had  proved  an  admirable  treasure  box  for 
childish  hoardings.  Jason,  the  summer  he 
was  thirteen,  cleared  it  out  and  put  into  it  his 
summer  earnings,  ten  dollars. 

With  his  newly  acquired  reticence,  he  did 
not  speak  of  the  box,  nor  did  he  mention  the 
extra  bills,  quarters  and  dollars  that  appeared 
there  from  time  to  time.  The  little  hoard 
grew  slowly,  very  slowly,  in  spite  of  these 
anonymous  additions  —  it  grew  as  slowly  as 
the  years  sped  rapidly,  it  seemed  to  Jason's 
mother. 

Jason  must  have  been  sixteen,  the  summer 
he  went  with  his  father  on  one  of  the  Sunday 
circuit  trips.  He  never  had  been  on  one  be 
fore.  But  it  had  been  decided  that  he  was  to 
begin  his  medical  studies  in  the  fall.  He  was 

[28] 


THE     CIRCUIT    RIDER 


to  be  apprenticed  to  a  doctor  in  Baltimore 
and  his  mother  was  anxious  for  father  and 
son  to  draw  together  if  possible  before  the 
son  went  into  the  world.  Not  that  Jason  and 
the  minister  quarreled.  But  there  never  had 
been  the  understanding  between  the  two  that 
except  for  the  unfortunate  magazine  episode, 
always  had  existed  between  Jason  and  his 
mother. 

The  trip  lay  in  the  hills  of  West  Virginia. 
Brother  Wilkins  rode  his  old  horse,  Charley, 
a  handsome  gray.  Jason  rode  an  old  brown 
mare,  borrowed  from  a  parishioner  for  the 
trip. 

Mrs.  Wilkins,  standing  in  the  door, 
watched  the  two  ride  off  together  with  a  thrill 
of  pride.  Jason  was  almost  as  tall  in  the  sad 
dle  as  his  father.  He  had  shot  up  amazingly 
of  late.  The  minister  was  getting  very  gray. 
He  had  been  late  in  his  thirties  when  he  mar 
ried.  But  he  sat  a  horse  as  though  bred  to 
the  saddle  and  Old  Charley  was  a  beauty. 

[29] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


Brother  Wilkins  was  very  fond  of  horses  and 
was  a  good  judge  of  horse  flesh.  Sometimes 
Mrs.  Wilkins  had  thought,  that  if  Ethan  had 
not  chosen  to  be  a  Methodist  minister  he 
would  have  made  a  first-class  country 
squire. 

She  watched  the  two  out  of  sight  down  the 
valley  road,  then  with  a  little  sigh  turned 
back  to  the  empty  home. 

Jason,  though  always  a  little  self-conscious 
when  alone  with  his  father,  was  delighted  with 
the  idea  of  the  trip.  They  crossed  the  Ohio 
on  the  ferry  and  rode  rapidly  into  the  West 
Virginia  hills.  The  minister  made  a  great 
effort  to  be  entertaining  and  Jason  was  aston 
ished  at  his  father's  intimate  knowledge  of 
the  countryside. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  remember  all  the 
places,  father/*  he  said  at  noon,  when  the 
minister  had  turned  to  a  side  road  to  find  a 
farmer  whom  he  wished  to  greet. 

"I  had  this  circuit  years  ago  before  you 

[30] 


THE    CIRCUIT    RIDER 


were  born,  my  boy.  I  know  the  people  inti 
mately." 

"Don't  you  get  tired  of  it?"  asked  Jason, 
suddenly. 

"Tired  of  saving  souls?"  returned  his  fa 
ther.  "Do  you  think  you'll  ever  get  tired  of 
saving  bodies?" 

"O  that's  different,"  answered  the  boy. 
"  You've  got  something  to  take  hold  of,  with 
a  body." 

"And  the  body  ceases  to  exist  when  the 
soul  departs.  Never  forget  that,  my  boy." 

"But  you  work  so  hard,"  insisted  Jason, 
"and  you  get  so  little  for  it.  I  don't  mean 
money  alone,"  flushing  as  if  at  some  mem 
ory,"  but  it  doesn't  seem  as  if  the  people  care. 
They'll  take  all  they  can  get  out  of  each  min 
ister  as  he  comes  along,  and  then  forget  him." 

Brother  Wilkins  looked  at  Jason,  thought 
fully.  "Sixteen  is  very  young,  Jason.  I'm 
afraid  you  were  born  carnal  minded.  I  pray 
every  night  of  my  life  that  as  you  grow  older, 

[31] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


you'll  grow  toward  Christ  and  not  away  from 
Him." 

Again  Jason  flushed  uncomfortably  and  a 
silence  fell  that  lasted  until  they  reached  the 
remote  hill  settlement  where  service  was  to 
be  held  that  night.  The  settlement  consisted 
of  a  log  church,  surrounded  by  a  scattered 
handful  of  log  houses,  each  already  with  its 
tiny  glow  of  light,  for  night  comes  early  in 
the  hills.  The  two  had  eaten  a  cold  lunch  in 
the  saddles,  for  church  service  would  begin  as 
soon  as  they  arrived. 

There  were  twenty-five  or  thirty  people  in 
the  rough  little  church.  They  crowded  round 
Brother  Wilkins  enthusiastically  when  he  en 
tered  and  he  called  them  all  by  name  as  he 
shook  hands  with  them.  Jason  slid  into  a 
back  seat.  His  father  mounted  to  the  pulpit. 

"Let  us  open  by  singing 

'How  tedious  and  tasteless  the  hours 
When  Jesus  no  longer  I  see — '  " 

The  old   familiar  tune!     Jason  wondered 

[32] 


THE     CIRCUIT    RIDER 


how  many  meetings  his  father  had  opened 
with  it.  The  audience  sang  it  with  a  will. 
In  fact  with  too  much  will.  A  group  of 
young  men  on  the  rear  seat  opposite  Jason 
sang  with  unnecessary  fervor,  quite  drowning 
out  the  female  voices  in  the  congregation. 
Jason  saw  his  father,  his  face  heavily  shad 
owed  in  the  candle-light,  glance  askance  at 
the  rear  seat. 

"Let  us  pray,"  said  Brother  Wilkins. 
There  was  a  rustle  as  the  congregation  knelt. 
"O  God,  I  have  come  to  You  again  in  this 
mountain  place  after  many  years  and  many 
wanderings.  I  thank  You  for  giving  me  this 
privilege.  I  have  greeted  old  friends  who 
have  not  forgotten  me  and  who  all  these 
years  have  remembered  You  and  Christ,  Your 
only  begotten  Son.  Tonight,  O  Heavenly 
Father,  I  have  brought  with  me  to  this  sacred 
fold  my  own  one  Iamb  that  he  might  see  how 
sacred  and  how  great  is  Your  power.  Look  on 
him  tonight,  O  Supreme  Master,  and  mark 

[33] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


him  for  Your  own.  And  remember,  that  if 
the  young  men  in  the  rear  seat  plan  any  dis 
turbance  tonight,  O  Heavenly  Father,  that 
the  arm  of  Thy  priest  is  strong  and  the  soul  of 
Thy  servant  is  resolute.  For  Jesus  Christ's 
sake,  Amen." 

The  boom  of  "Amens"  from  the  back  seat 
was  tremendous.  Brother  Wilkins,  rising 
after  his  prayer,  looked  at  the  four  young  men 
for  a  long  moment,  over  his  glasses.  Then  he 
said: 

"Let  us  sing 

'From  Greenland's  icy  mountains 
To  India's  coral  strands."3 

This  was  sung  with  tremendous  vim,  and 
the  minister  began  his  sermon.  Jason's  fa 
ther  was  a  good  preacher.  His  vocabulary 
was  rich  and  his  ideas  those  of  a  thinking 
man  whose  religion  was  a  passion.  But  the 
young  men  on  the  rear  seat  were  unimpressed. 
One  of  them  snored.  Brother  Wilkins  stopped 
his  sermon. 

[34] 


THE     CIRCUIT    RIDER 


"Be  silent,  ye  sons  of  Satan,"  he  thun 
dered.  There  was  silence  and  he  took  up  the 
thread  of  his  talk.  A  low  cat  call  interrupted 
him.  The  minister  stopped  and  slipped  off 
his  coat,  folding  it  carefully  as  he  laid  it  on  his 
desk.  It  was  old  and  the  seams  would  not 
stand  strain.  He  rolled  up  his  cuffs  as  he 
descended  from  the  pulpit,  the  congregation 
watching  him  spell-bound.  Jason  had  seen 
his  father  in  action  before  and  was  deeply 
embarrassed  but  not  surprised. 

Brother  Wilkins  strode  up  to  the  pew 
where  the  offenders  sat  and  seized  by  the  ear 
the  largest  of  the  group,  a  hulk  of  twenty-one 
or  so,  larger  than  the  minister.  He  led  the 
young  man  into  the  aisle  and  reached  up  and 
boxed  his  ears,  with  the  sound  of  impact  of  a 
club  on  an  empty  barrel. 

"Now  leave  this  house  of  God,"  roared  the 
minister.  The  young  fellow  sneaked  out  the 
door.  Brother  Wilkins  turned  back  to  the 
pew. 

[35] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


"Don't  you  tech  me  or  I'll  brain  ye,"  cried 
the  youth  who  was  about  Brother  Wilkins' 
own  size. 

"Hah!"  snorted  the  minister.  There  was 
the  sound  of  blows,  a  quick  scuffling  of  feet 
and  the  second  offender  was  booted  out  of 
the  door.  The  remaining  two  made  a  quick 
and  unassisted  exit.  Breathing  a  little  heav 
ily,  Brother  Wilkins  returned  to  his  sermon; 
and  to  his  hypnotized  and  immensely  regaled 
congregation  it  seemed  that  the  rest  of  his 
preaching  was  as  from  one  inspired  by 
God. 

Jason  sat  brooding  deeply.  Something 
within  him  revolted  at  the  spectacle  of  his 
father  descending  from  the  pulpit  to  beat  re 
calcitrant  members  of  his  congregation.  An 
old  and  familiar  sense  of  shame  enveloped 
him,  and  he  was  thankful  when  once  again 
darkness  had  enveloped  them  and  they  were 
traveling  rapidly  along  the  mountain  road. 
They  were  to  have  a  late  supper  and  spend 


[36] 


THE    CIRCUIT    RIDER 


the  night  at  a  cabin  well  along  the  road  they 
must  travel  on  the  morrow. 

Brother  Wilkins  was  in  the  abstracted  state 
that  always  followed  his  preaching  and  Jason 
was  glad  to  respect  his  silence,  until  it  had 
lasted  so  long  that  he  became  uneasy. 

"Father,  didn't  you  say  that  Herd's  was 
five  miles  beyond  the  church?" 

The  minister  pulled  up  his  horse.  In  the 
darkness  Jason  could  barely  see  the  outlines 
of  his  body. 

"Heavens,  Jason!  Why  didn't  you  rouse 
me  sooner?  This  isn't  the  main  traveled 
road.  When  did  we  leave  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  I  thought  you  knew 
this  part  of  the  country  so  well — " 

"So  I  do,  ordinarily.  But  I  can't  recognize 
by-paths  on  a  night  like  this.  Wait,  isn't 
that  a  light  up  the  mountainside  yonder? 
Come  along,  my  boy,  we'll  find  out  where  we 


are." 


The  light  glowed  only  faintly  from  the  open 

[37] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


door  of  a  cabin.  An  old  woman,  with  a  pipe 
in  her  mouth,  sat  crooning  over  a  little  fire 
in  the  crude  fireplace.  She  looked  up  in  as 
tonishment  when  the  two  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

"Why,  it's  Brother  Wilkins!"  she  cackled. 
"Lord's  sake,  what  you  doin'  clar  up  hyar!" 

"Why,  Sister  Clark!  I  am  glad  to  see  you," 
exclaimed  Jason's  father,  shaking  one  of  the 
old  woman's  hands,  and  shouting  into  her 
other,  which  she  cupped  round  her  ear.  "My 
son  and  I  must  have  got  off  the  main  road 
five  miles  back.  We're  on  our  way  to  Milton." 

Sister  Clark  was  visibly  excited.  "Ye  ain't 
going  on  a  step  tonight.  I  can  fix  a  shake 
down  for  ye.  Thing  like  this  don't  happen 
to  a  lone  old  woman  twice  in  a  lifetime. 
Bring  in  your  saddle-bags  —  but  Lord!"  she 
stopped  aghast.  "I  ain't  got  a  bit  of  pork  in 
the  house,  nor  there  ain't  a  chicken  on  the 
place.  All  I  got  is  corn-meal  and  molasses." 

"Plenty,  Sister  Clark!     Plenty!     Get  the 

[38] 


THE    CIRCUIT    RIDER 


saddle-bags,  Jason,  and  tie  the  horses  to 
graze." 

They  ate  their  supper  by  candle-light  after 
their  hostess  had  cooked  the  mush  in  a  kettle 
hanging  from  the  crane.  Brother , Wilkins  had 
a  violent  choking  fit  during  the  meal  and 
Sister  Clark  pounded  him  on  the  back,  apolo 
gizing  as  she  did  so  for  her  familiarity  with 
the  minister. 

Jason  slept  profoundly  on  his  share  of  the 
shake-down  that  night,  and  at  dawn,  after 
more  mush,  they  were  up  and  away. 

Twice  on  this  day,  Sunday,  Brother  Wil 
kins  held  service  in  the  mountains  and  it  was 
nine  o'clock  at  night  when  they  started  to 
ward  the  Ohio  again.  It  was  not  until  they 
had  reached  the  river  at  dawn  and  had  roused 
the  ferryman  that  the  minister  recovered 
from  his  Sunday  abstraction. 

"Did  you  have  a  pleasant  trip,  Jason?"  he 
asked  as  they  led  the  horses  into  the  boat. 

"Yes,  father,"  answered  Jason  dutifully. 

[39] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


Brother  Wilkins  looked  at  the  boy,  as  if  he 
were  beholding  him  from  a  new  angle. 

"You  don't  look  as  much  like  your  dear 
mother  as  you  did  in  your  childhood,  my  boy. 
Sometimes  —  I  wonder  —  Jason,  do  you  think 
this  life  has  been  too  hard  on  your  mother?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  do.  It's  hard  on  a  boy,  why 
shouldn't  it  be  doubly  hard  on  a  woman?" 

The  minister  sighed.  "Your  reply  is  hard 
ly  polite,  Jason,  though  I  suppose  my  ques 
tion  merited  it."  Then  with  sudden  heat: 
"Never  mistake  this  cold  frankness  of  yours 
for  courage,  my  son.  It  takes  more  courage 
usually  to  be  courteous  than  to  be  impolite. 
Did  you  notice  that  I  coughed  violently  yes 
terday  evening  at  Sister  Clark's?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  the  cause  of  it  was  this.  She  went 
down  to  the  spring  and  fetched  a  pail  of 
water  for  the  mush.  When  I  was  eating  my 
helping,  I  felt  a  lump  in  my  mouth.  But  the 
old  lady  had  her  eye  on  me  every  minute  for 

[40] 


THE    CIRCUIT    RIDER 


fear  I  wouldn't  enjoy  the  frugal  meal,  so  I 
could  only  investigate  with  my  tongue.  I 
found  that  she  had  cooked  a  little  bit  of  a 
frog  in  the  mush.  Now,  Jason,  if  she  had 
discovered  that  she  never  would  have  recov 
ered  from  the  mortification.  The  only  time 
in  her  life  the  minister  stopped  with  her.  So, 
though  it  made  me  choke,  I  swallowed  it. 
That,  sir,  is  my  idea  of  courtesy.  I  wish  you 
not  to  forget  it." 

Jason's  cool,  speculative  young  gaze  was  on 
his  father's  face  as  he  answered: 

"I  understand,  father." 

The  minister  turned  away.  "No,  you  don't. 
I  doubt  if  you  ever  do."  And  he  did  not 
speak  again  until  they  reached  home. 

O 


[41 


Ill 
WA  R 


Ill 

WAR 


AJD  so  Jason  went  away  to  study  medi 
cine.     He  worked  very  hard  and  pro 
gressed  very  rapidly.    By  the  time  he 
was  twenty  he  was  no  longer  "the  doctor's 
boy."    He  was  a  real  assistant  in  all  but  fees. 
He  had  no  share  in  the  doctor's  income  and 
always  was  desperately  hard  up. 

[45] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


At  first,  he  did  not  ask  his  father  and 
mother  for  help.  He  did  all  sorts  of  odd 
chores  to  pay  his  way.  But  as  he  progressed 
in  his  profession,  he  had  less  and  less  time  for 
earning  his  up-keep  and  had  finally  to  write 
home  for  money.  His  mother  always  an 
swered  his  letters  and  she  never  failed  to 
send  him  money  when  he  asked  for  it.  How 
she  managed  it,  Jason  never  asked.  Perhaps 
he  was  ashamed  to  know. 

In  all  these  four  years  he  did  not  come 
home.  He  would  have  liked  to  but  the  trip 
was  prohibitively  expensive. 

Late  in  the  fall  of  1861,  he  received  a  let 
ter  from  his  mother  containing  a  ten-dollar 
bill.  It  was  a  short  letter.  "Your  father 
can't  live  more  than  a  week.  Come  at  once." 

Jason  put  his  head  down  on  that  letter  and 
sobbed,  then  dried  his  eyes  and  sought  the 
doctor,  who  loaned  him  the  rest  of  the  money 
needed  for  the  trip. 

The  minister's  circuit  had  swung  him  round 

[46] 


WAR 

again  to  High  Hill.  Jason  disembarked  from 
the  packet  late  one  November  afternoon,  car 
rying  his  carpet  bag.  Even  in  November, 
High  Hill  was  beautiful.  Through  his  sad 
ness,  Jason  again  felt  the  thrill  of  the  giant 
headlands,  the  thousand  hills  of  his  boyish 
imaginings. 

There  was  the  same  little  cottage,  more 
weather-beaten  than  he  had  remembered  it. 
His  mother  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  door. 
The  four  years  had  changed  her,  yet  she 
seemed  to  Jason  more  beautiful  than  his  men 
tal  picture  of  her  had  been. 

She  kissed  him  with  trembling  lips.  "He's 
still  with  us,"  she  whispered.  "I'm  sure  he 
waited  for  you." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  asked 
Jason,  huskily,  as  he  deposited  his  carpet  bag 
on  the  sitting-room  table. 

"Lung  fever.  He  took  a  bad  cold  a  month 
ago  coming  home  from  West  Virginia  in  the 
rain.  He  was  absent-minded,  you  know.  If 

[47] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


it  hadn't  been  for  Pilgrim,  I  don't  think  he'd 
ever  got  here." 

"Pilgrim?"  asked  Jason,  warming  his  hands 
at  the  fire. 

"Surely  I've  written  you  about  Pilgrim. 
Father  bought  him  soon  after  you  left.  He's 
the  wisest  horse  that  ever  lived.  If  you're 
warm,  now,  Jason,  come  to  your  father." 

He  followed  her  into  the  bedroom  which 
opened  off  the  kitchen.  His  father  lay  on 
the  feather  bed,  his  eyes  closed.  O  how  worn 
—  O  how  changed!  Young  Jason  was  hard 
ened  to  suffering  and  death.  He  had  not 
realized  that  to  the  sickness  and  death  of 
one's  own,  nothing  can  harden  us.  He  stood 
breathing  hard  while  his  mother  stooped  over 
the  bed. 

"Ethan,"  she  said  softly,  "our  boy  is 
here." 

Brother  Wilkins  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled 
faintly.  He  tried  to  say  something  and  Jason 
sprang  to  take  his  hand. 

[48] 


WAR 

"Oh,  he  wants  to  speak  to  you  and 
can't.  O  my  poor  dear!  O  Ethan,  my 
dearest." 

Jason's  mother  broke  down.  Jason  put  his 
finger  on  his  father's  wrist. 

After  a  long  moment,  "Mother,  he's  gone," 
he  whispered. 

After  the  funeral,  Jason  wandered  about 
the  village  for  a  day  or  so,  trying  to  plan  for 
his  mother's  future  and  his  own.  All  the 
townspeople  were  kind  to  him. 

"Haven't  forgot  how  you  loaned  me  those 
Harper's  Monthlies  before  you  read  'em  your 
self,"  said  Mr.  Inchpin.  "Anything  I  can  do 
for  you  or  your  mother,  let  me  know." 

The  two  had  met  in  Hardwich's  store,  which 
was  also  the  post  office  and  the  evening  club 
for  the  males  of  High  Hill.  Jason  had  dropped 
in  to  post  a  letter. 

A  tall  scraggly  man  joined  in.  "Your  fa 
ther  was  the  best  preacher  in  Ohio.  We  was 
all  glad  when  he  got  back  here." 

[491 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


"He  had  the  gift  of  prayer,"  said  an  old 
man,  in  the  back  of  the  store. 

There  was  a  silence  which  Jason  struggled 
in  vain  to  break. 

Then  a  young  fellow  who  carried  a  buggy 
whip  and  smoked  a  cigar  said,  "How  does  the 
doctoring  go,  Jason?" 

"Well,  thanks,"  returned  Jason,  looking  at 
the  young  fellow,  intently.  It  was  Billy 
Ames,  he  of  the  striped  pants. 

Back  through  Jason's  heart,  until  now 
strangely  softened  by  the  happenings  of  the 
past  few  days,  surged  the  accumulated  bit 
terness  of  his  poverty-stricken  youth.  He 
turned  abruptly  and  left  the  store. 

His  mother  was  watching  for  him,  anxious 
ly.  "Jason,  Pilgrim  had  an  accident.  He's 
got  a  frightful  cut  on  his  right  fore  shoulder. 
He  must  have  got  caught  on  a  nail  somehow." 

"Let's  have  a  look  at  him,"  said  Jason. 

The  big  gray  was  standing  stolidly  in  his 
stall.  Mrs.  Wilkins  held  the  candle  while 

[50] 


WAR 

Jason  examined  him.  On  the  right  fore 
shoulder  was  a  great  three-cornered  tear  from 
which  the  skin  hung  in  a  bloody  fold. 

"I'll  have  to  sew  it  up."  Jason  was  all  sur 
geon  now.  "Do  you  think  he'll  stand  still 
for  us?" 

"Stand  still,"  replied  Jason's  mother,  in 
dignantly.  "Why,  he'll  know  exactly  what 
you  are  doing,  and  why." 

"AH  right  then.  You  get  me  some  clean 
rags  and  a  darning-needle  and  I'll  get  the 
rest  of  the  things  I'll  need." 

In  a  few  moments  the  operation  was  well 
in  hand. 

Pilgrim  kept  his  ears  back  and  his  eyes  on 
his  mistress.  He  breathed  heavily,  but  other 
wise  he  did  not  stir.  He  was  a  large  horse, 
with  a  small,  intelligent  head  and  a  mighty 
chest.  Jason's  mother  held  the  candle  with 
one  hand  while  she  stroked  the  big  gray's 
nose  with  the  other. 

"Be  careful,  Jason,  do!"  she  said  softly. 

[51] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


Jason  grunted.  "You  keep  him  from  bit 
ing  or  kicking  and  Ffl  do  my  share,"  he  said. 

"PBgrirn  bite!*'  erred  Jason's  mother  indig 
nantly. 

Again  Jason  grunted,  working  swiftly,  with 
the  skill  of  trained  and  accustomed  fingers. 
The  candle  flickered  on  his  cool  young  face, 
on  his  black  hair  and  on  his  long,  strong,  sur 
geon's  fingers.  It  nickered  too  on  his  moth 
er's  sweet  Eps,  on  her  tired  brown  eyes  and 
iron-gray  hair.  It  put  high-lights  on  the 
cameo  at  her  throat  and  made  a  grotesque 
shadow  of  her  hoop-skirts  on  the  stable  waH. 

Finally  Jason  straightened  himself  with  a 
sigh  and  wiped  his  hands  on  a  toweL 

"That's  a  good  job,"  he  said.  "Must  be 
some  bad  spikes  here  or  in  the  pasture  fence 
to  have  given  him  that  rip.  I'll  hunt  them 
up  tomorrow.  —  Get  over  there!** 

Tnis  last  to  Pflgrim,  who  suddenly  had  put 
his  head  on  Jason's  shoulder  with  a  soft  nuz 
zling  of  his  nose  against  the  young  doctor's 


WAR 

cheek  and  a  little  whinny  that  was  almost 
human. 

"Why,  Jason,  he's  thanking  you!"  cried 
his  mother.  "He'fl  never  forget  what  you've 
done  for  him  tonight." 

Jason  gave  the  horse  a  careless  slap  and 
started  out  the  stable  door. 

"You'll  be  having  it  that  he  speaks  Greek 
next,"  he  said. 

"You  don't  know  him,"  replied  Jason's 
mother.  "This  is  the  first  time  you  ever  saw 
him,  remember.  These  last  three  years  of 
your  father's  life  he's  been  like  one  of  the 
family."  She  followed  Jason  into  the  cot 
tage.  "Often  and  often  before  your  poor 
father  died  he  said  he'd  never  have  been  able 
to  keep  on  with  the  circuit-riding  and  the 
preaching  if  he'd  had  to  depend  on  any  other 
horse  than  Pilgrim.  That  horse  just  knew 
father  was  forgetful  He  wouldn't  budge  if 
father  forgot  the  saddle-bags.  When  Pilgrim 
balked,  father  always  knew  ha'd  forgotten 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


something  and  he'd  go  back  for  it.  I'll  have 
supper  on  by  the  time  you've  washed  up, 
Jason." 

The  little  stove  that  was  set  in  the  fireplace 
roared  lustily.  The  kettle  was  singing.  The 
old  yellow  cat  slept  cozily  in  the  wooden 
rocker  on  the  patch-work  cushion.  AH  the 
furniture,  so  simple  and  worn,  was  as  familiar 
to  Jason  as  the  back  of  his  hand. 

Jason  washed  at  the  bench  in  the  corner, 
then  sat  down  while  his  mother  put  the  sup 
per  before  him  —  fried  mush,  fried  salt  pork, 
tea  and  apple  sauce. 

"Well,"  said  Jason  soberly,  "what  are  we 
going  to  do  now,  mother?  Father's  gone 
and—" 

His  mother's  trembling  lips  warned  him  to 
stop. 

"It  doesn't  seem  possible,"  she  said,  "that 
it's  only  a  week  since  we  laid  him  away." 

Jason  interrupted  gently.  "I  know,  moth 
er;  but  you  and  I  have  got  to  go  on  living!" 

[54] 


WAR 

"It's  you  I'm  worrying  about,"  said  his 
mother. 

"I've  been  wondering  if  you  hadn't  better 
come  back  to  Baltimore  with  me,"  mused 
Jason.  "I  can  eke  out  a  living  somehow  for 
the  two  of  us." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkins  decidedly. 
"You've  got  burden  enough  to  take  care  of 
yourself.  I  can  get  along  till  you're  doctoring 
for  yourself.  Mr.  Inchpin  will  let  me  have 
the  cottage  near  the  wharf  if  I'll  go  up  to  his 
house  and  cook  his  dinner  for  him.  Then 
with  a  little  sewing  and  a  little  nursing  here 
in  the  village,  the  cow,  the  chickens  and  Pil 
grim,  I  can  get  along.  But  I  don't  see  how 
I  can  send  you  anything,  Jason." 

Jason  had  brightened  perceptibly.  "  If  I  can 
just  get  through  this  year,  mother,  I'll  be  on 
my  feet.  But  I've  got  to  pay  Dr.  Edwards 
back.  He's  a  hard  driver.  If  we  can  get 
together  enough  for  that,  I'll  manage,  some 
how." 

[55] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


Jason's  mother  sighed.  "It  does  seem  as 
if,  all  through  the  years,  I  ought  to  have 
saved  something,  but  I  haven't,  not  a  cent, 
except  what  I  raked  and  scraped  together  for 
your  doctoring.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  dol 
lars  a  year  beside  donation  parties  is  quite  a 
sum,  Jason,  and  I  feel  guilty  that  I  haven't 
saved  anything  for  you.  But  it  all  went,  es 
pecially  after  father  got  sickly.  I've  sold  a 
lot  of  things,  Jason,  so  as  to  send  you  the 
money.  I'm  most  at  my  wit's  end  now. 
Grandma's  silver  teapot,  that  kept  you  three 
months,  and  your  father's  watch,  nearly  six. 
That's  the  way  the  things  have  gone.  My, 
how  thankful  I  was  we  had  'em." 

Jason  was  still  so  very  like  his  mother,  so 
very  unlike.  Where  her  face  was  sweet  and 
tremulous,  his  was  cool  and  still.  His  brown 
eyes  were  careless  and  yet  eager.  Hers  were 
not  inscrutable  now.  The  light  had  gone  out 
of  them  from  weeping.  Jason's  long,  strong 
hands  were  smooth  and  quiet.  Hers  were 

[56] 


WAR 

knotted  and  work  calloused  and  a  little  un 
certain. 

As  if  something  in  her  words  irritated  him, 
Jason  said  quickly,  "Well,  what  did  you  and 
father  start  me  on  this  doctor  idea  for,  if  you 
thought  it  was  going  to  cost  too  much?" 

"O,  Jason,  you  know  that  thought  never 
occurred  to  either  of  us !  There  are  still  some 
things  to  go  that  I've  sort  of  hung  on  to. 
Take  the  St.  Bartholomew  candlestick  to  Mr. 
Inchpin.  That  will  give  you  the  money  you 
need  right  now." 

Jason  looked  up  at  the  queerly  wrought  sil 
ver  candlestick  that  was  more  like  an  old  oil 
lamp  than  a  candlestick.  His  mother's  peo 
ple  had  brought  it  from  France  with  them. 
The  family  legend  was  that  some  Huguenot 
ancestor  had  come  through  the  massacre  of 
St.  Bartholomew  with  this  only  relic  of  his 
home  wrapped  in  his  bosom. 

"Good!"  said  Jason  eagerly.  "The  old 
thing  is  neither  fish  nor  flesh,  anyhow.  Too 

[57] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


big  mouthed  for  a  candle  and  folks  are  going 
to  use  coal  oil  more  and  more,  anyhow.  I 
can  be  off  tomorrow." 

" Tomorrow's  -Thanksgiving,   Jason." 

"I'll  be  glad  to  forget  it,"  grumbled  Jason. 
"What  have  we  to  be  thankful  for?" 

His  mother  looked  at  him  a  little  curiously, 
but  she  said  nothing.  Jason  caught  the  ex 
pression  in  her  eyes. 

"Don't  look  at  me  that  way,  mother,"  he 
burst  forth  angrily,  "I  can't  forgive  father, 
with  his  big  brain  and  body  for  doing  so  little 
for  you  and  me.  I  can't  forgive  him  for  what 
he  dragged  us  through  —  those  donation  par 
ties  !  He  had  no  right  to  put  me  through  what 
he  did  that  year  at  High  Hill.  And  what  did 
he  get  out  of  his  life?  They  lay  him  away 
with  the  remark  that  he  had  a  gift  of  prayer! 
And  his  widow  may  starve,  for  all  of  them." 

"Jason,  be  silent,"  cried  his  mother.  She 
had  risen  and  stood  facing  him,  her  face 
deathly  white.  "Not  one  word  against  your 

[58] 


WAR 

father.  Because  you  never  could  appreciate 
him,  you  needn't  belittle  him  now.  Not  one 
word,"  as  Jason  would  have  spoken.  "He 
was  my  husband  and  I  loved  him,  God  knows. 
O  Ethan,  Ethan,  how  shall  I  finish  my  span 
of  years  alone!"  she  broke  down  utterly. 

Jason  put  his  arms  about  her.  "Mother,  I 
didn't  mean  to  hurt  you.  Truly  I  didn't. 
It's  only  that — "  he  stopped  and  set  his  lips 
tightly  while  he  petted  her  in  silence. 

"I  pray,  Jason,"  said  his  mother,  finally, 
"that  you  will  never  have  a  grief  or  a  pun 
ishment  great  enough  to  soften  your  heart." 

Jason  did  not  answer.  He  went  up  to  see 
Mr.  Inchpin  that  night,  and  the  following  day 
started  back  East  again. 


IV 
MR.  LINCOLN 


IV 
MR.  LINCOLN 


THREE  times  a  week  during  the  year 
that  followed,  Jason's  mother  saddled 
Pilgrim   and   rode    him   to    the    post 
office  after  the  shrieks   of  the  whistle  had 
warned  her  that  the  tri-weekly  packet  had 
come  and  gone.     Four  times  during  -the  year 
she  heard  from  Jason. 

[63] 


BENEFITS  FORGOT] 


"April  3,  1862. 
"DEAR  MOTHER: 

"I  am  very  well  indeed,  and  hope  that  you  are  not 
overworking.  Things  are  not  going  very  well  here. 
Everybody  is  hard  pressed  because  of  the  war  and  Dr. 
Edwards  simply  can't  make  any  collections.  We  get 
a  good  many  soldiers  who  are  sent  home  half  cured 
and,  of  course,  we  get  nothing  at  all  from  them  — 
don't  want  to,  in  fact.  Is  there  any  way  we  could 
raise  just  a  little  money?  Not  a  cent  that  you've 
earned,  understand,  but  perhaps  you  could  sell  your 
old  mahogany  hat-box.  Mrs.  Chadwick  always  want 
ed  it.  I  never  did  care  for  those  old  things  and  I  don't 
think  you  do.  After  I  get  started  in  practice,  I'll  buy 
you  a  dozen  hat-boxes.  Won't  it  be  great  when  you 
can  come  down  here  and  live  with  me? 

"Your  loving  son, 

"JASON." 

"June  7,  1862. 
"DEAR  MOTHER: 

.  "  I  have  been  quite  sick  with  a  sore  hand  —  almost 
got  gangrene  from  a  soldier.  That's  why  you  haven't 
been  hearing  from  me.  I  received  the  ten  dollars. 
Thank  you  very  much.  I  didn't  think  the  old  trap 
would  bring  that  much.  Dr.  Edwards  said  yesterday 
that  I  had  a  genius  for  surgery.  The  ten  dollars  paid 
my  board  for  six  weeks,  giving  me  a  chance  to  take 
some  extra  cases  for  the  doctor.  The  war  looks  bad, 
doesn't  it?  They  need  surgeons  and  though  I'm  doing 


MR.     LINCOLN 


something  in  patching  up  these  poor  fellows  and  send 
ing  them  back,  I  wonder  often  if  I  oughtn't  to  go  into 
a  war  hospital.  Do  you  remember  the  little  cameo  pin 
you  used  to  wear  till  father  thought  it  was  too  dressy 
for  you?  If  you  haven't  lost  it,  I  wish  you'd  send  it 
down  here  for  me  to  pawn.  I  can  get  it  back  after  the 
war.  I  think  of  you  often  though  I  don't  write.  Don't 
work  too  hard. 

"Your  loving  son, 

"JASON." 

"Sept.  24,  1862. 
"DEAR  MOTHER: 

"Could  you  possibly  sell  something  to  get  five  dol 
lars  to  me  by  return  packet?  Will  write  fully  later. 

"JASON." 

But  there  was  nothing  more  to  sell. 

"My  dear  boy,"  wrote  Jason's  mother,  "I  am  heart 
broken,  for  I  know  how  hard  you  are  working,  but  truly, 
I  have  nothing  left  of  the  least  value.  The  cameo  pin 
was  the  last.  Am  very  much  worried  lest  you  are  sick. 
Do  let  me  know.  I  am  very  well  and  the  neighbors 
are  kind.  Pilgrim  is  well,  too,  though  the  scar  is  there 
on  his  shoulder.  I'm  sure  he  will  always  remember 
what  you  did  for  him.  He  is  all  but  human.  Please 
write  me. 

"A  hug  and  kiss,  from  Mother." 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


Jason's  fourth  letter  was  urgent  and  prompt 
in  reply. 

"DEAR  MOTHER: 

"I  am  going  into  the  army,  mother.  The  need  for 
surgeons  is  urgent  and  I've  got  to  help  lick  the  South. 
I  thought,  barring  the  five  from  you,  I  could  raise 
enough  to  buy  into  practice  with  Dr.  Edwards  before 
I  leave,  so  that  if  I  live,  I  will  have  that  to  return  to. 
It  will  cost  a  hundred  dollars.  But  I  can't  do  it.  So  I 
guess  you'll  have  to  sell  Pilgrim.  I  hate  to  ask  it  of 
you  but  after  all  he's  only  an  expense  to  you  and  I'll 
buy  you  another,  after  the  war.  Sell  him  to  the  gov 
ernment  for  an  army  horse.  Mr.  Inchpin  will  attend 
to  it  for  you. 

"Lovingly, 

"JASON." 

Jason's  mother  read  the  letter  with  tears 
running  down  her  cheeks.  It  was  November. 
Drearily  the  Kentucky  hills  rolled  back  from 
the  river  and  drearily  the  Ohio  valleys 
stretched  inland.  Pilgrim  plodded  patiently 
toward  the  stable  and  his  mistress,  huddled 
in  the  saddle,  gave  him  no  heed  until  Pilgrim 
stamped  impatiently  at  the  stable  door.  Then 

[66] 


MR.     LINCOLN 


she  dismounted  and  the  great  horse  stamped 
into  his  stall. 

"O  Pilgrim,"  she  sobbed,  "Jason  is  going 
to  war.  Jason  is  going  to  war.  I  can't  lose 
him  too!" 

The  horse  turned  his  fine  head  and  nick 
ered  softly  as  he  rubbed  his  soft  nose  on  her 
shoulder. 

"And  I've  got  to  let  you  go,  old  friend," 
she  added.  "  I  know  that  I  don't  need  you,  Pil 
grim.  It's  just  that  you  are  like  a  living  bit  of 
father  —  and  if  Jason  would  only  seem  to 
understand  that,  it  wouldn't  be  so  hard  to  let 
you  go.  I  wonder  if  all  young  folks  are  like 
Jason?" 

Old  Pilgrim  leaned  his  head  over  his  stall 
and  in  the  November  gloaming  he  looked  long 
at  his  mistress  with  his  wise  and  gentle  eyes. 
It  was  as  if  he  would  tell  her  that  he  had 
learned  that  youth  is  always  a  little  hard; 
that  only  long  years  in  harness  with  always 
the  back-breaking  load  to  pull,  not  for  one- 

[67] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


self,  but  for  others,  can  make  the  really  grate 
ful  heart.  One  of  the  sweet,  deep  compensa 
tions  of  the  years,  the  gray  horse  seemed  to 
say,  is  that  gratitude  grows  in  the  soul. 

So  Jason  and  Old  Pilgrim  both  went  to 
war.  They  did  not  see  each  other,  but  each 
one,  in  his  own  way,  made  a  brilliant  record. 
Pilgrim  learned  the  sights  and  sounds  and 
smells  of  war.  The  fearful  pools  of  blood 
ceased  to  send  him  plunging  and  rearing  in 
harness.  The  screams  of  utter  fear  or  of  mor 
tal  agony  no  longer  set  him  to  neighing  or 
sweating  in  sympathy.  Pilgrim,  superb  in 
strength  and  superb  in  intelligence,  plodded 
efficiently  through  a  battle  just  as  he  had 
plodded  efficiently  over  the  circuit  of  Jason's 
Methodist  father. 

And  Jason,  cool  and  clear-headed,  with  his 
wonderful  long  strong  hands,  sawed  and  sewed 
and  probed  and  purged  his  way  through  field 
hospital  after  field  hospital,  until  the  men 
began  to  hear  of  his  skill  and  to  ask  for  him 

[681 


MR.     LINCOLN 


when  the  fear  of  death  was  on  them.  His 
work  absorbed  him  more  and  more,  until 
months  went  by,  and  he  neglected  to  write  to 
his  mother!  Just  why,  who  can  say?  Each 
of  us  looking  into  his  heart,  perhaps  can  find 
some  answer.  But  Jason  was  young,  and 
work  and  world  hungry.  He  did  not  ask 
himself  embarrassing  questions.  The  months 
slipped  into  a  year,  and  the  first  year  into  a 
second  year.  Still  Jason  did  not  write  to  his 
mother,  nor  did  he  longer  hear  from  her. 

In  November  of  the  second  year  Jason  was 
stationed  in  a  hospital  near  Washington. 
One  rainy  morning  as  he  made  his  way  to  the 
cot  of  a  man  who  was  dying  of  gangrene,  an 
orderly  stopped  him. 

"This  is  Dr.  Jason  Wilkins?" 

"Yes." 

"Sorry,  Doctor,  but  I've  got  to  arrest  you 
and  take  you  to  Washington  — " 

Jason  looked  the  orderly  over  incredulously. 
"You've  got  the  wrong  man,  friend." 

[69] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


The  soldier  drew  a  heavy  envelop  careful 
ly  from  his  breast  pocket,  and  handed  it  to 
Jason.  Jason  opened  it  uneasily,  and  gasped. 
This  is  what  he  read:  "Show  this  to  Sur 
geon  Jason  Wilkins, Regiment.  Arrest 

him.  Bring  him  to  me  immediately. — A.  LIN 


COLN." 


Jason  whitened.  "What's  up?"  he  asked 
the  orderly. 

"I  didn't  ask  the  President,"  replied  the 
orderly  dryly.  "We'll  start  at  once,  if  you 
please,  Doctor." 

In  a  daze,  Jason  left  for  Washington.  He 
thought  of  all  the  minor  offenses  he  had  com 
mitted.  But  they  were  only  such  as  any 
young  fellow  might  have  committed.  He 
could  not  believe  that  any  of  them  had 
reached  Mr.  Lincoln's  ears,  or  that,  if  they 
had,  the  great  man  in  the  White  House  would 
have  heeded  them. 

Jason  was  locked  in  a  room  in  a  Washing 
ton  boarding-house  for  one  night.  The  next 

[70] 


MR.     LINCOLN 


day  at  noon  the  orderly  called  for  him. 
Weak-kneed,  Jason  followed  him  up  the  long 
drive  to  the  door  of  the  White  House,  and 
into  a  room  where  there  were  more  orderlies 
and  a  man  at  a  desk  writing.  An  hour  of 
dazed  waiting,  then  a  man  came  out  of  a 
door  and  spoke  to  the  man  at  the  desk. 

"Surgeon  Jason  Wilkins,"  said  the  sentry. 

"Here!"  answered  Jason. 

"This  way,"  jerked  the  orderly,  and  Jason 
found  himself  in  the  inner  room,  with  the 
door  closed  behind  him.  The  room  was 
empty,  yet  filled.  There  was  but  one  man  in 
it  besides  Jason,  but  that  man  was  Mr.  Lin 
coln.  He  sat  at  a  desk,  with  his  somber  eyes 
on  Jason's  face  —  still  a  cool  young  face,  de 
spite  trembling  knees. 

"You  are  Jason  Wilkins?"  said  Mr.  Lincoln. 

"Yes,  Mr.  President,"  replied  the  young 
surgeon. 

"Where  are  you  from?" 

"High  Hill,  Ohio." 

[71] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


"Have  you  any  relatives?" 

"Only  my  mother  is  living." 

"Yes,  only  a  mother!  Well,  young  man, 
how  is  your  mother?" 

Jason  stammered.  "Why,  why  —  I  don't 
know." 

"You  don't  know!"  thundered  Lincoln. 
"And  why  don't  you  know?  Is  she  living  or 
dead?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Jason.  "To  tell  the 
truth,  I've  neglected  to  write  and  I  don't  sup 
pose  she  knows  where  I  am." 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  room.  Mr.  Lin 
coln  clenched  a  great  fist  on  his  desk,  and  his 
eyes  scorched  Jason.  "I  had  a  letter  from 
her.  She  supposes  you  dead  and  asked  me 
to  trace  your  grave.  What  was  the  matter 
with  her?  No  good?  Like  most  mothers,  a 
poor  sort?  Eh?  Answer  me,  sir?" 

Jason  bristled  a  little.  "The  best  woman 
that  ever  lived,  Mr.  President." 

"Ah!"  breathed  Mr.  Lincoln.     "Still  you 

[72] 


MR.     LINCOLN 


have  no  reason  to  be  grateful  to  her!  How'd 
you  get  your  training  as  a  surgeon?  Who 
paid  for  it?  Your  father?" 

Jason  reddened.  "Well,  no;  father  was  a 
poor  Methodist  preacher.  Mother  raised  the 
money,  though  I  worked  for  my  board 
mostly." 

"Yes,  how'd  she  raise  the  money?" 

Jason's  lips  were  stiff.  "Selling  things,  Mr. 
President." 

"What  did  she  sell?" 

"Father's  watch  —  the  old  silver  teapot  — 
the  mahogany  hat-box  —  the  St.  Bartholo 
mew  candlestick.  Old  things  mostly;  beyond 
use  except  in  museums." 

Again  silence  in  the  room,  while  a  look  of 
contempt  gathered  in  Abraham  Lincoln's  eyes 
that  seared  Jason's  cool  young  soul  till  it 
scorched  him.  "You  poor  fool!"  said  Lin 
coln.  "You  poor  worm!  Her  household 
treasures  —  one  by  one  —  for  you.  '  Useless 
things  —  fit  for  museums!'  Oh,  you  fool!" 

[731 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


Jason  flushed  angrily  and  bit  his  lips.  Sud 
denly  the  President  rose  and  pointed  a  long, 
bony  finger  at  his  desk.  "Come  here  and  sit 
down  and  write  a  letter  to  your  mother!" 

Jason  stalked  obediently  over  and  sat  down 
in  the  President's  seat.  Anger  and  mortifica 
tion  were  ill  inspirations  for  letter-writing,  but 
under  Lincoln's  burning  eyes  Jason  seized  a 
pen  and  wrote  his  mother  a  stilted  note.  Lin 
coln  paced  the  floor,  pausing  now  and  again 
to  look  over  Jason's  shoulder. 

"Address  it  and  give  it  to  me,"  said  the 
President.  "I'll  see  that  it  gets  to  her." 
Then,  his  stern  voice  rising  a  little:  "And 
now,  Jason  Wilkins,  as  long  as  you  are  in  the 
army,  you  write  to  your  mother  once  a  week. 
If  I  have  reason  to  correct  you  on  the  matter 
again,  I'll  have  you  court-martialed." 

Jason  rose  and  handed  the  letter  to  the 
President,  then  stood,  angry  and  silent,  await 
ing  further  orders.  Abraham  Lincoln  took 
another  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  room. 

[74] 


MR.     LINCOLN 


Then  he  paused  before  the  window  and  looked 
from  it  a  long,  long  time.  Finally  he  turned 
to  Jason. 

"My  boy,"  he  said  gently,  "there's  no 
finer  quality  in  the  world  than  gratitude. 
There  is  nothing  a  man  can  have  in  his  heart 
so  mean,  so  low  as  ingratitude.  Even  a  dog 
appreciates  a  kindness,  never  forgets  a  soft 
word,  or  a  bone.  To  my  mind,  the  noblest 
holiday  in  the  world  is  Thanksgiving.  And, 
next  the  Creator,  there  is  no  one  the  holiday 
should  be  dedicated  to  as  much  as  to 
mothers." 

Again  Lincoln  paused,  and  looked  from  the 
boyish  face  of  the  young  surgeon  out  of  the 
window  at  the  bleak  November  skies,  and 
Lincoln  said  to  Jason,  with  God  knows  what 
tragedy  of  memory  in  his  lonely  heart: 

"  Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
Thou  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 
As  benefits  forgot." 

Another  pause.     "You  may  go,  my  boy." 
[75] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


And  Lincoln  shook  hands  with  Jason,  who 
stumbled  from  the  room,  his  mind  a  chaos  of 
resentment  and  anger.  He  made  his  way 
down  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  pausing  as  two 
army  officers  rode  up  to  a  hotel  and  dis 
mounted,  leaving  their  horses.  Something 
about  the  big  gray  that  one  of  the  officers 
rode  seemed  vaguely  familiar  to  the  young 
doctor.  The  gray  turned  his  small,  intelli 
gent  head  toward  Jason,  then  with  a  sudden 
soft  whinny,  laid  his  head  on  Jason's  shoul 
der  and  nuzzled  his  cheek  gently.  Jason 
looked  at  the  right  fore  shoulder.  A  three- 
cornered  scar  was  there.  Jason  and  Old  Pil 
grim  never  had  met  but  once,  and  yet  — 
Jason  was  little  more  than  a  boy.  Suddenly 
he  threw  his  arms  around  Old  Pilgrim's  neck, 
and  sobbed  into  the  silky  mane.  Passers-by 
glanced  curiously  and  then  went  on.  Wash 
ington  was  full  of  tears  those  days. 

Pilgrim    whinnied    and    waited    patiently. 
Finally  Jason  dried  his  eyes,  then  stood  in 

[76] 


MR.     LINCOLN 


thought.    The  officer  who  had  ridden  Pilgrim 
came  out  at  last.    Jason  saluted. 


"Captain,  I'd  like  to  buy  that  horse  from 

you." 

[77] 


BENEFITS    FORGOT 


The  captain  laughed.  "  There  are  a  num 
ber  of  others  like  you." 

"No,  but  let  me  tell  you  about  him,  Cap 
tain.  Give  me  ten  minutes.  I'm  Dr.  Wilkins 
of Hospital." 

"O  yes,  I  know  of  your  work.  What's  the 
story,  Doctor?" 

Jason  told  Pilgrim's  history.  "She  gave 
him  up  for  me  and  now  I've  found  him,"  he 
finished.  "I  want  to  buy  him  back,  get  a 
furlough  and  take  him  home  to  her,  myself. 
I've  been  saving  my  money." 

"You  may  have  him  for  just  what  I  paid 
for  him,  Doctor,"  said  the  captain,  who  was 
considerably  Jason's  senior.  "Tell  your 
mother  I  wish  my  own  mother  were  living 
and  that  I  do  this  in  her  memory." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Jason. 

A  week  later  Jason  led  Pilgrim  out  of  the 
freight  car  in  which  he  had  traveled  from 
Washington  to  a  railway  station  twenty-five 
miles  from  home.  The  river  packets  were 

[78] 


MR.     LINCOLN 


not  running  and  this  was  the  nearest  station 
to  High  Hill.  It  was  noon  and  cold.  Jason 
mounted  and  started  south  briskly  and  once 
more  the  Ohio  valley  opened  up  before  him. 

It  seemed  to  Jason  that  he  was  seeing  the 
hills  for  absolutely  the  first  time.  And  yet 
that  could  not  be,  for  back  with  the  first  sight 
of  the  distant  river  came  all  his  old  boyish 
reverence  for  the  headlands.  The  last  time 
he  had  ridden  horseback  in  the  hills  had  been 
in  the  West  Virginia  circuit,  with  his  father. 

For  the  first  time  since  his  interview  with 
the  President,  Jason  began  to  think  of  his 
father.  All  his  newly  awakened  sense  of 
gratitude  had  been  centered  on  his  mother. 
Did  he  then  owe  his  father  nothing? 

It  took  courage,  it  took  nerve,  it  took 
stomach  to  patch  together  the  bloody  wrecks 
on  the  field  of  battle.  It  had  taken  tenacity 
to  an  ideal  to  starve  and  toil  for  his  profes 
sion  as  he  had  done  in  Baltimore.  Whence 
had  come  these  qualities  to  Jason?  He 

[79] 


BENEFITS     FORGOT 


thought  once  more  of  his  father  on  that  trip 
on  the  West  Virginian  circuit,  of  the  'boys 
expelled  from  the  church,  of  Sister  Clark,  of 
his  own  sense  of  mortification  and  his  own 
contempt.  And  he  dropped  his  head  on  his 
breast  with  a  groan. 

And  so  as  the  sun  set,  Pilgrim  with  the 
scar  on  his  right  fore  shoulder  and  Jason  with 
the  scar  on  his  soul  that  only  remorse  im 
plants  there,  stopped  before  the  cottage  in 
High  Hill.  And  through  the  window,  Jason's 
mother  saw  them.  She  rushed  to  the  door 
and  Jason,  dismounting,  ran  up  to  her,  and 
dropping  on  his  knees,  threw  his  arms  about 
her  waist  and  sobbed  against  her  bosom; 

"O  mother!  O  mother!  Forgive  me!  I 
didn't  realize.  I  didn't  know!"  Just  as 
many,  many  sons  have  done  before,  and  just 
as  many  more  will  do,  please  God,  as  long  as 
love  and  gratitude  endure. 


[80] 


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